


Disconnected

by Angrydollface



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M, No Smut, Panic Attacks, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 01:15:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21045896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angrydollface/pseuds/Angrydollface
Summary: He was a ghost, unseen, disconnected from everything and everyone around him as they passed, something he assumed would never change until it did.





	Disconnected

**Author's Note:**

> Just something that popped into my head, please let me know if there is anything else I need to tag. Has not been beta-ed so excuse any typoes and bad grammar.

He was a ghost, unseen, disconnected from everything and everyone around him as they passed, laughing and joking, comfortable in their own skin as they bantered back and forth between themselves deciding on snacks and movies. Team building, Steve had said in the elevator, his eyes crystal blue and voice full of warmth. James could see that Steve was struggling to try to find a way for this to make sense to him, to explain Avenger movie nights as something more than an alien concept to the Winter Soldier. Stevie didn’t have to say anything more because James could read behind the lines, the Avengers were family.  _ Stevie _ , the air felt punched out of him, the asset didn’t have a Stevie, the asset had nothing. 

James stands in the farthest shadows he could find in the large room, back stiff against the solid presence of the wall he’s leaning against, pressing his weight against it like if he tried hard enough it would swallow him whole, it would be better this way wouldn’t it? The cold is seeping into his skin, making his shoulders ache with familiarity, this he knows better than anything else in this room. Cold and shadows were where he belonged and he wasn’t sure if anything in this new world could change this, he was a ghost for a reason, a weapon made to be pointed and in that direction destruction would be laid bare at his feet. 

This, this room full of laughter and joy, the smell of food, the movement and noise of people. This is cotton soft, this is old dreams, this is Becca and his mother cooking in the kitchen, this is small Steve battered and bloodied in an alley swaying as a bully takes another swing…

James feels like his brain is a film strip the end of it’s roll, scrambled, flickering images flashing before his eyes, breath stuttering and sticking in his throat and he can’t help but feel the walls closing in and the sting of cold on his tongue, the asset is malfunctioning, time for reset...the asset...the asset has been out too long.

“Hey,” there is a warm body beside him and the asset tenses, metal arm whirring and re-calibrating. The muscles in his jaw flex, only handlers around allow this close. 

“James? Y’all alright?” the not handler asks, the world starts to shift back on itself and James faces the direction of the voice. 

This man is sun shine bright, blonde hair sticking up in odd angles and blue eyes assessing him knowingly. James blinks, expecting this to be something his broken mind has cooked up, but the man is still there. 

“I’m fine,” Jame pauses, feeling like there is a name on the tip of his tongue as he looks over the man. Somewhere distantly in the back of Jame’s mind the asset acknowledges the threat this man possesses, the slump of his shoulders and rumpled clothes doing nothing to hide the lethal grace the asset has seen. 

James tilts his head and narrows his eyes, trying to places where he’s seen him, something itches behind his eyes.

“Hawkeye,” his voice is rusty with disuse. 

“That’s me, but you can call me Clint,” the man ducks his head before offering his hand, “I don’t think we’ve officially met.”

James looks down at Clint’s outstretched hand and then back to his face. It feels like Clint is slowly pulling all of the light out of the room. “James,” he answers quietly, sliding his hand into Clint and he is blinded by Clint’s answering smile. 

There is a sadness there that James can’t quite place, a knowing that vibrates so loudly James can feel it between their linked hands and somehow it feels like home. 


End file.
